Page 12 of Jesse's Girl

You working tonight?

Me

Yeah just got called in, why?

Marcus

I think Jess needs a break from the hospital stuff

I’m trying to convince him to have a little fun so we might come by

I pause before replying. It’ll be cool to see Jesse again, I guess. I try to picture him but realize with surprise that I can’t; he’s been gone so long I’m having trouble remembering what he looks like. In my mind, there’s just a blurry specter of the lanky, blond teenager who used to drive me and the guys to get fast food at 2am.

Me

Cool, see ya tonight then maybe?

Changing into my all-black work clothes, I stop at the mirror, leaning in to inspect my makeup. The inky black eyeliner I put on earlier is on point, drawn in sharp wings that make my eyes appear big and dramatic. I raise a brow. I look hot.

Throwing a light cardigan over my miniskirt and tank top, I grab my purse and phone and take the short walk to work. The summer evening is warm—it’s one of those ideal temperatures that, except for a light breeze, feels like you’re still indoors. I take a breath of fresh air before pushing through the staff entrance, the hum of the bar and restaurant rushing up to fill my ears.

I quickly stuff my things in the staff room and take up my post at the bar beside Ros.

“Thanks again for coming in,” she says, throwing me a grateful smile as she fills a pint glass for a customer seated nearby. “You got here fast.”

“Yeah, I was about to go out, so I just had to change.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, Ada,” she says as she wipes her hands on a towel, then smooths them over her growing belly.

“All good; it’s not a huge deal,” I half lie. Leaning over to another customer, I take her order and scoop ice into a highball glass. I go through the motions I’ve done a thousand times before, then slide the rum and coke to the woman waiting nearby.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” Ros says.

I finish taking the customer’s payment and stab the receipt onto the metal spike next to the till. “What’s up?”

“When I go on maternity leave this fall, I’m gonna need someone to take over as manager for a little while.” Ros turns to the shelves behind the bar to get a new bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “You interested?”

“Wow, um,” I start, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Ada, you can do this job with one hand tied behind your back. I think you’d be great at it.” Ros’ smile is wide.

“Thanks,” I say, then tell her I’ll think about it. I’m equal parts flattered and reluctant, hating that my first thought is what my parents might think about a promotion.

The bar is humming for the next hour or so. Noticing a brief lull, I spot my chance to get us clean glasses from the kitchen and tell Ros I’ll be right back. When I push through the swinging doors, the bright fluorescent light makes me squint. Nodding at Theo, one of the dishwashers, I grab two of the enormous plastic dish racks full of glasses and stack them before awkwardly bracing the weight against my hips. When Theo offers his help, I brush him off.

“Dude, I got it,” I say with a smirk.

“Girl, you’re crazy.” He gives me a dubious look. “Those things are fucking heavy.”

“No shit,” I say, hefting the racks and ignoring how the plastic handles already dig into my fingers.

Theo shakes his head. “You really shouldn’t carry two at a time, either. Ros’ll rip you a new one.”

“I got it. It’s fine,” I call back over my shoulder as I push through the swinging doors, already regretting my decision. At least this’ll save me a trip later.

I retrace my winding path through the crowded restaurant, swerving around customers and servers. The glasses clink with each step I take. I scowl and puff out a breath, readjusting the racks against my hips with effort. Theo was right. Damn him. But women can carry heavy shit. I’m doing this for feminism.

Just as I’m passing the restrooms, the men’s room door swings open and a huge body lurches out in front of me. My heavy load collides with the guy’s upper thigh and he lets out a small grunt. The sudden impact drives the hard plastic back into my hip bones, the glasses rattling as I hurry to shift my grip. To my relief, I manage not to drop anything. My focus entirely on balancing the glasses, I barely get a glimpse of the guy I’ve just collided with, registering only a scruffy beard and long blond hair. Hobo surfer chic. Typical Lennox Valley type—even though we’re miles from the coast.